Symphony of Gears
by Nukoko
Summary: He opened his eyes as he finds himself, once more, hearing the symphony of gears. He would remind himself, once more, of the sins he had committed and the sins he will continue to commit for the sake of future that felt so far out of reach. He would, once more, damn the life of the boy that showed him hope. Just like he had done countless times before.
1. Chapter 1

**A short piece. A prologue. **** A desperate attempt to overcome the writer's block that preventing me from writing my main stories.**

**Dedicated to Azu, who has been "insisting" I make a RWBY fic for the past 4 months. **

**==[Symphony of Gears]==**

He sharpened his senses and listened to the movement of the gears, as he was his wont.

Gears of different shapes and sizes, made from different materials, placed in different positions. From the ones rotating on the wall, to the ones revolving on the ceiling, all the way the ones under the green tint of his glass table.

To those that visited his office, the sound they made as they were meshed with each other and spun were nearly identical, but to him, one who had spent listening to them in a range of time that most human beings couldn't comprehend, he could tell the ever so slight difference in tune.

It was a near silent symphony; a piece that had a clear start and an end, yet repeated endlessly.

_It was a calming piece._

One that told him that there was peace in all the insanity of the world, during those fleeting moments where he could, just for a bit, appreciate what was, what is, and what could be. Those moments he longed for; moments he craved.

_It was a foreboding piece._

One that he would always hear when the calm comes before the storm. When the world seemed to be silent right before it spun erratically down into the madness that it was destined to encounter. Those moments he feared; moments he dreaded.

_It was a haunting piece._

One that accompanied moments of weakness and self-hate for all the sins and mistakes he had committed. When he would look at his face and be reminded once again, that monsters were real, and he was looking right at one. Those moments he despised; moments he avoided.

_It was a hidden piece_, a performance that only he could hear and appreciate. One he reveled in, always smiling just slightly in self-indulgence; knowing that those that stepped inside would likely never come close to knowing what it symbolized.

Because beyond everything it represented in his life, it was perhaps something he associated with the concept of 'another beginning'. A symbol of a possibility for a future that wasn't covered in shades of black.

Symbolism. Yet another self-indulgence that he staunchly clung to.

Because humans were creatures of habit and he so badly needed to remind himself that he was human. _Still human_ despite everything. That he wants to _remain a human_.

Or else, he'd slide down that slope to the point of no return, when he was already so close. Slide down the path that _she_ had no doubt already fallen to.

Ozpin. _Ozpin._ _**Ozpin.**_ Almost in tune with the rhythm of the gears, he repeated his name inside his head, mouthing the words at first, with increasing emphasis, until it became a whisper.

It was a ritual. A necessity, because that name told him of the goals and objectives he needed to pursue. He wasn't Ozma anymore. He wasn't Oscar. He wasn't anything else. He wasn't allowed to dwell on every other name he's borne in his endless _–repeating–_ life no matter how many times it haunted his dreams.

And perhaps, more importantly, it told of the lines, the boundaries he would never cross. _Should_ never cross. **Will** never cross.

_Because he was humane. _

_He was still humane. _

_He will remain humane._

Yet again, he whispered to himself. And even he could hear the increasing desperation in his own voice. He had forgotten how many times he had done the self-same ritual; stopped bothering when to keep count after he was three digits in.

He repeated those three lines.

Once to affirm who he was and what he needed to do; the one true goal he needed to accomplish and how far he was willing to go to accomplish them.

Twice to remind himself of the sins he has committed and will commit once more. To the lives he had damned and will damn once more.

_Thrice in the slowly dying hope that he would never have to again._

**==[Symphony of Gears]==**

He walked through the lush forest he had grown to become familiar with. An area several tens of kilometers from Vale, near a small and unassuming town.

He had never bothered to change out the suit he always wore, no matter how inappropriate it was for the terrain he was traversing, and brought nothing else aside from his cane and a small wooden box.

He knew where to step without having his clothes caught in the dense shrubbery. He knew where every branch and overgrown root could be found, where every pebble and twig lay on the ground. He knew exactly where to place his cane to gently move away any small obstacles that he wold encounter.

He could be blindfolded and robbed of all his other senses, and he knew he could still walk this path without much trouble, through memory alone.

He moved, until he reached a clearing with a large stump from what was once a century old tree, cut down after having been struck by lightning in the past.

"… 12 minutes."

He didn't need a watch. He knew just by looking at the color of the sky nearing sunset.

He was early by 2 minutes this time around.

Taking a seat, he placed the wooden box on the stump, winding the handle on its side several times, and opened the cover. Inside, a metallic cylinder with countless pins, started to spin, hitting the fine prongs of a steel comb near it, producing a sound.

A tune began to play; soft, gentle, somber and regretful.

He waited, as the seconds turned into minutes and the sky gradually faded.

He counted down until he could hear it. The rustling leaves, the sound of breaking twigs followed by the sight of bright blonde hair that seemed to light up the entire forest.

He was already prepared. He knew what to say, knew what tone of voice to use, knew what expression to wear on his face, knew exactly everything he needed to bring about the conclusion he wanted.

"Well hello there."

A casual greeting. Read right out of the same script. The scene would always change, ever so slightly and they were never always the exact same. However, little time since the 'start' of this 'instance' had passed, so the changes were never large.

Hence, from here, the boy, who bore an innocent heart and pure view of the world, would greet him with a smile; one filled with trust and faith, devoid of any cynicism and suspicion that would inevitably colour it as the boy grows older.

The boy would ask him with he was doing here and he would impress within the boy, the path of heroism.

"Mister, why are you sad?"

However, for the first time, in a very long while, the script didn't ring true.

He briefly wondered if he had made a slight mistake in his appearance. The boy had always been perceptive even at early age.

However, it meant nothing. He would simply adjust accordingly.

"Sad? What do you mean young one?"

Schooling his features, he put on a kind smile asked.

"You're crying. I always cry when I'm sad. Don't worry! I gots this potato! Wanna try some? Mom says eating good stuff makes people happy!"

"Ah…."

He instinctively reached for his face. Letting out a long sigh and wiping the tears that had formed without him noticing.

He allowed himself a smile. A genuine smile followed by a grimace that he quickly hid with a rueful shake of his head.

The boy had already drawn near during his lapse of focus, handing the large potato with both hands toward him.

The boy had always been that. A kind and gentle person. Someone that will always face difficulty but always managed through sheer force of will.

Someone that could have lead a perfectly peaceful and happy life.

Someone he would damn to a life of danger. To a life pain, loss, and grief.

"Y-you can take all of it! 'S okay! We have a lot of potatoes at home!"

"I'm sorry."

He spoke the words before he could think, only receiving a confused look from the boy as a response.

Another shake of the head. He massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his bearings.

Apologies were meaningless. His words were meaningless.

He lost the right to apologize a long time ago.

"Hngh? …Why? Did ya do something bad?"

He did. He had committed countless atrocities.

"It's nothing… just remembering something."

He reached out to the boy and took the potato being offered.

A sign of friendship and goodwill.

He wanted to start but found himself reluctant.

He acknowledged the emotion. He cherished it. In some twisted way, it made him happy that he was still human enough to hesitate.

Then he promptly buried it. As deep as he could because such emotions would never change anything.

So this time he smiled, properly, like he always planned.

"Say little one, tell me. Do you like heroes?"

**==[Symphony of Gears]==**

**==[Chapter End]==**

** Azu.** Here you are. Time travel story with Jaune in it. Sorry for length. Writer's block has been pretty bad.

Also, I've already told you that RWBY has enough decent to good fics in it and I'm bound to make something redundant.

Thankfully you never specified who was time travelling so there. You get your fluff later.

Ah right. Music box song is Red like Roses. Naturally.


	2. Chapter 2

** Roland's Blade - Thank you fort he suggestion, but I really don't mind if the story doesn't catch much attention. This really is a story written for the sake of a (very insistent and annoying) friend (love ya Azu), so even if no one really pays attention to it, I'll be finishing it.**

**To confirm, this isn't a [Ozpin in Jaune's head] story, as Echonic commented.**

**This is a [Ozpin is the time traveller] story.**

**Anyway, please excuse any spelling and grammatical errors, I'm sleep deprived and I wanted to post my updates before going back to work.**

**==[Symphony of Gears]==**

**==[The Protégé – Jaune Arc]==**

Jaune stood in the middle of the circular ring. The tiled area, made of material that was specifically made to take on large impacts, were surrounded by bleachers.

Looking up, he observed the beautiful blue sky that could be seen through the glass roof. He wondered if the Arena in Beacon looked similar, considering the training center was based off from that.

To his right was a large screen and an elevated stage, likely used for presentations. There were machines that allowed for Aura readings that could be displayed on a screen mounted on the wall, but that wasn't something they ever really used.

_The field of battle was limited to the confines of the room they were in._

_Old man Ozpin was limited to the use of his cane for attacks and nothing else._

_He wins if he lands a single hit. The old man wins if both his kite shield and sword were disarmed._

Jaune summarized the rules of engagement in his head as the seemingly un-ageing old man, his preferred way of referring to Ozpin, listed them off.

If someone else were to hear the rules, they'd probably think that he had a large advantage against the old man.

In reality, it was. In execution, it barely mattered. He could be wielding a machine gun while the old man wielded a spoon, and he'd still have to fight an uphill battle even if the same rules were applied.

Right now, the wooden kite shield he held on his left, and the plain double-edged one-handed sword on his right would have to do.

"Jaune, this will serve as a refresher than actual sparring. Show me what you've learned."

He breathed a mental sigh of relief at hearing the word 'refresher', purely because it meant there were no surprises or unexpected trick that would blindside him during the spar; the standard progression of most of their spars really.

This time, he at least knew what the old man was going to do _when_ –not if—he was beaten down.

"… Got it."

"Hmm. Now, ready my dear protégé?"

Protégé, not student, and certainly not apprentice; no matter how much he wanted to be the latter.

Old man Oz wasn't his teacher, because that would imply he was the student and that he would actually be taught something. The old man sparred with him, took him to some hunts, watched over him when he fought grim, and rescued him when he got in over his head; but the old man had never really taught him anything.

About the only thing he had been given exact instructions on was how to make good hot cocoa. He still didn't get what that was for, but he was pretty good at it.

Aside from that, the most he got was advice; and even then it was always advice regarding approaching problems and mentality; never on anything practical about fighting or never any outright solutions to any problem.

The arrangement between the two of them was pretty simple. The old man gave him a chance to gain experience in all aspects relating to hunters; whether he actually learns and improve was purely on his own merit.

Naturally, without proper instruction, the usual routine was that he would fail a few dozens to a hundred times before finally learning the answer through sheer repetition.

To his relief, Ozpin never stopped giving him chances to earn more experience and never refused when he asked for a spar unless he was too busy; so even repeated failure became so normal that he didn't even feel too frustrated anymore.

The only stipulation that the old man gave was that the only time the arrangement would end was when he would give up on it.

Unfortunately for the old man, he had already sworn to the Arc name that he would become a hunter and that meant he was either becoming one, or die trying. Literally.

Naturally, as Arc's never go back on their word, he kept pushing through no matter bad it got; no matter how frightened he was at first when facing the grim, no matter how badly he got beaten in spars because he didn't know a thing about holding a sword or using a shield, and no matter how many times he's found himself in a situation where he really could have died.

And there were a lot of them.

Considering the old man –which he will always insist on calling him even when Ozpin really didn't look that old—was about the only person that was actually supportive of his dream of being a hunter, he was immensely grateful even though the old man didn't take him on as an apprentice like he originally wanted.

It was more support than any of his family was willing to give at least. Though considering his goal meant that he would be fighting grim for the rest of his career, likely in far off places where his family wouldn't be able to reach him; he couldn't really blame his family for the lack of support because it was at least due to love and concern.

He thanked whatever higher power there was out there for being born into such a loving and caring family, but the one thing he couldn't compromise on was his choice on becoming a hunter.

People tended to think it was just a dream; just an innocent kid's fantasy of heroism, and they would be right. But as he grew up, as he the old man let him face the grim, as he finally understood exactly how scary and dangerous it was, his drive to become a hunter only increased.

So he understood that he didn't just want to be a hunter, _he felt like he needed to become one. _

He could never really explain it. Sometimes he wondered if it was because of the dreams he would often have; _faceless figures that he knew he loved, faceless figures he wanted to fight for and protect. _

He had tried before but failed to find the words to describe it.

"Begin!"

The moment old man Oz signalled the beginning of the battle, he stayed put and prepared to defend himself, raising his shield, angling his body to reduce the old man's points of attack, and keeping his sword to his side, out of the old man's sight.

He closely observed Ozpin's stance, particularly the position of old man's grip on the cane.

He honestly hated that cane. It was the reason he tended to dislike non-bladed weapons in general. Bladed weapons at least didn't prolong his suffering when he was hit by them.

'_Okay… focus. This is a review, so the old man's probably going to test me.' _

After a bout of silence, Ozpin's figure seemingly blurred from his sight and appeared in directly in front of him in one seamless motion.

'_Consecutive thrusts… Corners of the shield?'_

From the old man's stance, one akin to a fencer, he ascertained the attack and slightly slackened his hold on center grip of the wooden kite shield.

Several thuds of a steel tip meeting hardened wood resounded in the room as the old man let loose three fast thrusting attacks – two aimed on the upper corners and one on the lower end of the shield.

The force of the attack was substantial, and experience had long ago taught him that taking that attack with a rigid shield, head on, was a recipe for a shield flying across the room; so instead he angled his body and his shield slightly so the tip of the cane would slide off before each strike, and returning to a firm grip right after.

His Aura flared and waned in turn; focused right before the hit and waned right after a successful deflection.

'_One handed sword grip, a swing to the side of the shield for disarmament…!'_

Reacting out of instinct from seeing the position of the old man's arms and shoulders, he lunged slightly forward and swung his shield to meet the cane mid swing.

"Ugh…!"

Despite focusing his aura and managing to actually move his shield in time, he flinched as the cane met his shield but managed to maintain his own stance. The moment the body of the cane landed on the middle of the shield, he slackened his grip, allowed the force of the attack to move the shield and carry his arm, then proceeded to turn the shield so that it lay under the cane to deflect it upwards.

Finding the opportunity, he thrust his sword forward in a counter attack, aiming for the old man's torso – which was easily evaded, a feeling he was well acquainted with. He pressed on, aiming mostly for the old man's upper body.

No wide swings, no heavy hits, just consecutive fast and light attacks laced with aura, always making sure that his shield was firmly guarding his sword arm at each attack.

A thrust to stomach, to the shoulder, and to the leg; Jaune attacked in quick succession – but with a turn of the body, a quick sway to the side, and a side step followed by a swing of the cane that was strong enough to force him back— Ozpin handily evaded and countered without any visible effort.

It was at these moments he regretted his choice of shield, a large and rather unwieldy kite shield. The size and weight made it difficult to move with one hand, the lack of strap making it easier to be disarmed compared to a strap, and the lack of mobility made it difficult to use for offense.

His short bout of offense was quickly stopped cold and Ozpin took the offensive. The old man used both hands to change the cane's angle and range at the drop of a hat, forcing him into the defensive.

Thrusts and swings came not just from the front, but to the side, high and low, in quick succession. The sound of steel tip of the cane hitting the face of the shield increased in pace; almost in a consistent rhythm.

It was at these moments when he was happy he _did_ choose a center-grip kite shield; the size of the shield allowing for more coverage, the weight making it harder to be hit away, and the center-grip allowing him to far more easily manoeuvre to different angles without having to move his entire arm.

Ozpin continued his assault as Jaune weathered the storm of attacks while he bid his time for any kind of opening.

Then the old man aimed for a sweep of his legs.

"Guh…!"

He didn't dodge, parry, or shield against it. The first two because he was unable to with the speed of the attack and his position, the third because lowering his shield to stop the attack on his lower body was a trip straight to a quick take down.

Instead he took the attack, allowing his aura to reduce the force of the hit, pushed his body forward until there was virtually no space between him and Ozpin, and pressed his shield on Ozpin's right arm –the one holding the cane.

In normal cases, it was something he would never do in a spar against the old man. In the near decade he had spent getting beaten down by the old man, he's experienced enough cane holds and takedowns that he was relatively sure that Ozpin only really let him close in so he could be used as a practice dummy for the many, many variations of such techniques.

However, the rules the old man laid out had clearly stated that the old man was limited to the cane which meant Ozpin _couldn't use any of his other limbs to attack._ Further, most of the holds and take downs in their current distance–at least ones he's personally experienced or seen—needed arms and legs to be used. The rule also had the added benefit of preventing the old man from just punching or kicking him away, or grabbing at his clothes or weapons.

Hence, with another opportunity, he quickly went for quick stabs on Ozpin's legs and body.

Naturally, Ozpin drew back and twisted his body to avoid, but each time he would step forward and press his shield into the old man even when the old man tried going through the sides.

He knew full well that what he was doing was ineffective in actually landing a hit, but his goal was different. The first rule was that the spar was limited to the room, so it meant the wall itself was included in the area.

'_Just a bit more…'_

Persistently, he tried to drive the old man to the wall, but in his third attempt to push the old man, he noticed the position of the cane from the corner of his eyes.

The old man reversed his grip so that the protruding hand guard on the handle was near the edge of his shield.

'…_!?'_

He lifted his elbow on pure instinct when he noticed that fact, which was the only thing that prevented Ozpin from hooking onto the shield and yanking it away, but also exposed his abdomen and side – an opening Ozpin capitalized on immediately.

"Hngg…..!?"

A devastating swing to his flank almost made him release his grip on his weapons, which was then followed by a heavy blow to the side of his knee that forced him to kneel down.

He was glad the spar wasn't based on aura levels. He was pretty sure that those hits took a lot out of his aura reserves, because _they felt like he was getting shot point blank._

'_Okay, change of plans!'_

Already recognizing how bad his position was, he intercepted the third attack –one aimed at his shoulder- with his shield, strained his other leg, and dove to the side with all his might. With a roll, he managed to barely stand, before Ozpin had lunged to close gap.

Only to be met by the Shield that Jaune threw right into his direction.

Ozpin reacted fast enough to hit the shield away only to see Jaune madly lunging forward with his sword ready to stab into him in reckless abandon.

The old man managed to, once again, right in the nick of time, dodge the attack... but for the briefest moment, he could feel a bit of resistance as his sword flew past.

Looking back at the old man, he could see a small tear in his black suit.

For a few moments, there was silence, as Ozpin looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

He could only sheepishly grin in return.

**==[Symphony of Gears]==**

**==[The Master – Ozpin]==**

After the refresher spar, Ozpin had given his protégé the passing mark and called for a short break. Had it been any other student, he may have given them a short reprieve from doing anything else, but considering his student had a rather expansive aura reserves and the strength and mental will to match, he always made sure that their 'breaks' were productive.

Hence, between the two of them was a small round table with a chessboard set-up on top. A timer lay to the side, set to 3 minutes. Both items were something he always brought when meeting with his protégé, always tucked in the black suitcase he brought along with him.

The two of them would play quite a few different board games but chess was the one they often defaulted to. Though chess was by no means something that can be directly translated to tactics and strategy on the field or in warfare like some would dare to claim, it was an excellent tool in training logical thinking.

With each piece having set restrictions in movement, planning ahead becomes a must to achieve victory. When analysed, the short and long term consequences of each move could be determined.

Of course, chess strategies and tactics didn't really translate to real life, much less in warfare. However, he saw it as an excellent tool for compelling a person to better think and adapt.

"Got the Cocoa. Ah, we're going Blitz Old man? Man, I never even win normally, now you're just gonna kick my ass faster…"

A proper teacher would have given an encouragement or at least tell off their student about being so negative about themselves. Self-esteem and self-worth were important aspects of human development and a proper teacher would normally help develop it.

However, he wasn't the boy's teacher nor was he any kind of instructor even when he easily could have. Experience was the boy's teacher, and in the future, the boy's partner would serve such a crucial role.

Seen in a particular perspective, he could easily rationalize his inaction in improving the boy's self-esteem by saying that he knew full well the boy will find success even if he didn't interfere. He could easily add that he didn't want to take the catalyst that would form the boy's relationship with the boy's future partner.

All such reasons would be completely true, but then he had already decided that he wasn't going to try to convince himself with lies.

He _needed _the boy to have low self-esteem. He needed the boy to be lacking in practical knowledge in the use of the boy's chosen weapon, _because he found that that truly was the fastest and easiest way to foster the kind of connection he wanted the boy to have._

Jaune Arc and Pyrrha Nikos. Both so influential for events to come, both so crucial for the future. From his experience, the two would always eventually grew close regardless of Jaune's level of experience and skill in combat.

However, he had always found that the connection between the two was established and fostered far faster when Pyrrha Nikos was given the role of mentor to Jaune; likely due to the girl's inner nature to support and help those around her.

Hence, he chose not to teach Jaune anything related to combat and allowed to boy to essentially learn purely through experience. After all, he had enough skilled combatants with semblances that were specifically geared for combat so though helpful, Jaune _didn't need _to be a supremely skilled combatant.

Instead, he chose to help foster the boy's acumen for tactics, strategy, and leadership; qualities that _he would need_ the boy to have, qualities that better suited the boy's semblance.

The power to amplify another's aura was a weapon that could, _and have_, turned the tides of even the most hopeless battles.

On top of all that, was the fact that he intentionally avoided giving praise and recognition to the boy. For the same reasons above, but this time to better compliment the boy's future relationship with team RWBY.

Which lead him to intentionally feed the boy's self-confidence issues.

Glynda would have probably fly into a rage should she ever learn of it of such a blatant disregard of an educator's responsibility.

All for the sake of the future.

"For the sake of the future… the phrase does get quite old now doesn't it?"

He had already set the pieces, when Jaune had returned with two mugs. The boy handed him the one that bore the Beacon emblem, his personal mug.

Taking a cursory sip to check the taste, he nodded in approval.

He had indeed trained the boy well.

"Do you just take that mug everywhere you go? I don't think I've ever seen you use any other mug…"

"Hmm, what do you think?"

The boy took a seat as and set the mechanical chess clock to 3 minutes and proceeded to take two pawns, one black and one white, before placing his hand under the table to shuffle the two.

The boy then raised both clenched hands to prompt him to choose.

"Well for the longest time, I kinda thought you just had a lot of mugs with the same design, but I think it's the same mug."

"Hmm, why would you say so?"

He tapped on Jaune's left hand, prompting the boy to reveal the white pawn.

With a nod, he gently turned the chessboard so that the black side faced Jaune, and the white faced himself.

"Well the wear on the bottom of the mug is the same I guess?"

"Correct… I do indeed take the same mug everywhere."

He nodded again, praising the boy mentally for the observation.

"… Okay, so why do you take the same mug everywhere? Isn't that really inconvenient to do?"

Instead of responding, he gently pressed on the timer to start the game.

As white, he chose to move the pawn in front of King two spaces forward. A classic opening to vie control for the center.

Jaune responded, moving the black pawn in the same line two spaces forward.

White Knight to f3, Black Knight to c6. Another standard opening set of moves. All made in a span of a minute.

White Bishop b5, an aggressive move right into Black territory.

Black Pawn to a6, an attempt to drive off the invading bishop.

White Bishop retreats to a4 in response, and the second Black Knight was moved to f6 in the lull of White's offensive.

White Castles the King and Rook, while Black bishop moves out to b6, clearing Black for a castle three moves after. Black sets up for an offensive on the right side of the board, charging in the Knights to bait out a move from White side.

White counters by taking the Black Knight, and both vie for control of the center of the board, with a quick exchange of Bishops, Knights, and pawns. At the end, a single White Knight and a single Black Bishop remains as respective Queen of both sides are finally moved to action.

If numerical values where given to each piece, the Knight and Bishop tended to change depending on the state of the board. This time, the White Knight had more value than the Black Bishop, as the positioning of the pawns after the exchange had led to the middle being blocked, heavily limiting the movement options of the Bishop.

White attempts to mount an offensive on the left side of the board with the White Rooks, but Black immediately recognizes the attempt and moves Black Rook to the right side of the board while withdrawing the remaining Black Bishop behind the pawn lines.

White Knight is made to invade into black side territory, having a significant advantage in its movement as Black attempts to pressure the right side of the board with both Black Rooks and the Black Queen prepared to attack the White King across the board.

White Knight moves further in and Black pulls the trigger on the attack, having no other choice but to initiate another exchange due to the pressure from the White Knight.

With a Black Pawn leading the charge, the White King is made to move, and Black Rook advances. Both Queens and Rooks of either side are taken out in the exchange, leaving an advantageous White Knight and a limited Black Bishop after the dust clears.

Black has pawn advantage, beating white by 2 pieces, and tries to leverage it but White quickly covers the Black Pawn with the White King, ensuing in a deadlock.

"Ah…."

He could hear his protégé's reaction upon seeing the board state.

Silently, Jaune places a finger on the Black King, and tips it over.

10 minutes. A short game, even for a Blitz. He didn't even have time to finish his hot cocoa.

"Why withdraw Jaune? Despite the advantage of my Knight in movement and position, that truly was an even game. You had fair chance of victory."

Stopping the timer, he regarded the boy with a curious look, and received a flat one in return.

"… You were just gonna stall me out until I got frustrated and make a mistake weren't you?"

Ozpin smiled. He would have.

He would simply maintain the deadlock until Jaune made a mistake, wherein he would capitalize by picking off the Black Pawns with the White Knight.

It would have been a victory. One achieved simply by being patient.

If only reality could be done the exact same way.

"So, two out of three? I mean, you're gonna kick my ass again but I can at least go for another deadlock, I think?"

This time he let out a chuckle.

The boy had a lot of redeeming qualities. However, personally, he felt that the boy's ability to accept failure and admit mistakes for the sake improvement was perhaps the boy's most admirable quality.

After all, if more people were like that, if _he_ was like that in past, then perhaps the endless war he found himself in would have never gone on for so long.

"Usually I'd agree, but I do have meeting to attend soon."

"Oh? That's rare old man. Doesn't Aunt Glyn handle that kind of stuff for you?"

Taking another sip of hot cocoa, he couldn't help but smirk at the affectionate title for Glynda.

The two met sparingly but the boy's earnestness in learning in spite of failure earned quite a bit of points to the stern teacher. He was rather sure that Glynda, who held the pre-assessment trials for non-combat school applicants, was rather happy to see Jaune passing.

"Well, this time a personal appearance is required."

Drinking the last of the hot cocoa, he nodded in appreciation before regarding Jaune seriously.

Initiation was fast approaching and he could clearly see the building worry from the boy. He had hoped that passing the initial assessment held by the strictest teacher in Beacon would calm the boy, but it seemed like even that was enough.

"Jaune. I understand how you may feel. However, always remember, when you become a hunter, you will always have a partner to stand by your side. More than that, you will be in a team of four people."

Team JNPR. Soon he'd be able to call those children to the stage and proclaim the boy in front of him as the leader of team with so much promise.

The initiation and the team formation after. He looked forward to it more than anything else.

To see the beginnings of the next generation, the ones that would shoulder the fate of the future, all gathered in front of him.

It was one of the few, truly few, moments in time that he could irrevocably declare as a moment of happiness.

"Yeah… you… you told me a lot of times before that my partner and my team can become like family… d-do you think I'll be lucky enough to meet people like that?"

He could see it in the boy's eyes. The anxiety and worry. Likely fears that he might not meet good people, or fears that he might not be accepted even if due to his lack of formal training.

In most cases, he would have allow the boy to keep nursing those thoughts, but this time however, he wouldn't hesitate.

"You will. Without a doubt. Believe in them, put all your faith in them and love them as you'd love your family."

"Yeah… I hope so old man. I hope so…"

From a face of anxiety, to cautious hopefulness. He was relieved that he was at least able to allay some of that anxiety.

Thankfully, the boy wouldn't need to suffer any lack of emotional support any longer. Soon the boy would likely have far too much support than he would know what to do with.

"Ah… it seems my visitor will be arriving soon. Initiation is in a week, I assume you'll be returning home to say goodbye to your family before then?"

Ozpin started as he checked the message in his scroll. He saw the grimace in Jaune's face as he brought up the topic.

"Ah, I assume your family is still opposed?"

"Well… the girls have mostly come to terms with it. Saph's even coming back in from Argus just for the goodbye party. It's just that Dad's a bit…"

A 'loving yet overprotective family' was a perfect description of Arcs. The father, a former huntsman that went through enough to know the perils of the job, was and likely always be opposed to Jaune's choice.

Considering the future ahead, the patron of the Arc family was fully justified. Jaune really would be better off staying in the quiet village of Domremy, helping his family tend to the farm, and living a quiet life.

However, Ozpin had already taken that choice away from the boy.

"I… I honestly get Dad's point of view. It's just, I was never really able to explain why I had to be a huntsman."

"Ah yes… the dreams and nightmares I assume?"

"Yeah, though maybe it would just make him worse really. I'm not really sure…"

With the benefit of _hindsight_, he knew full well that the patron of the Arcs would definitely veer towards a stronger opposition should the topic about Jaune's recurring dreams and nightmares be shared.

Unfortunately, said dreams and nightmares were an effective metric for him to measure how far along Jaune was in terms of development.

"Well, regardless, you have indeed decided on the path… which does bring me to something else."

The immediate caution and suspicion in the boy's face made him chuckle in appreciation.

Considering how he had trained the boy and the fact that he had very rarely given anything material to boy before; the reaction was well deserved.

"Take this with you. Treat it as a congratulatory gift for passing your assessment trials."

From the suitcase, he took out a large black box. It was rather heavy, which was normal considering the contents of the box.

The boy hesitated, before finally reaching out.

"… This isn't some kind of trick or trap?"

"Not this time, no. You can even confirm with Glynda before opening it if you're still unconvinced. She's aware of what it is."

"Well if Aunt Glyn can confirm…"

With a rueful shake of the head, Ozpin rechecked his scroll; seeing yet another message detailing coordinates coming through.

"Well, I'm afraid that's all for today. I have a meeting to attend and I believe you have a bullhead to catch. Take care with the box and I'll be seeing you in initiations. Remember my words."

"Well thanks for… well whatever this is. It's also really rare you offer advice like that so yeah, definitely will. See you old man!"

With a wave, Jaune very carefully made sure that the box was carefully handled, treating it like some kind of explosive device, while picking up his equipment.

As the boy exited the room, he quickly responded to the message from an unknown scroll number.

"Well… time for the next meeting."

Drinking the last of the hot chocolate, Ozpin made his way out of the training center, and made his way to the port area.

**==[Symphony of Gears]==**

It took him 15 minutes to reach the destination, a storage warehouse for spare parts. The smell of iron was thick, just as faint smell of the sea nearby.

"Well, now…"

A voice spoke, coming from behind one of the large storage containers.

From there, the figure of a tall man donning a white suit with inner red lining, a black bowler cap, and a small grey scarf.

"You can understand my confusion when my little ole partner had sent me the message, but it seems that it wasn't a joke…"

The man gave his cane a few twirls as he spoke, before pointing the tip of the cane right towards Ozpin, the tip popping upwards to reveal a reticule.

Ozpin responded with a nod and a smile.

"So, what could the esteemed headmaster of beacon possibility want with a humble thief like myself?"

"A pleasure to meet you, Roman Torchwick."

Ozpin approached, reducing the distances the slightest bit, but felt the touch of a blade on his lower back.

"It's a pleasure to see you once again Miss Neopolitan."

Without missing a beat, he continued his introduction.

Never losing his smile, he looked straight at Torchwick.

"I'm quite aware of your current, 'predicament' so to speak. As for why I'm here… well, I of course came here to do business."

Yet another questionable act.

As all the other ones, done all for the sake of the future.

**==[Symphony of Gears]==**

**==[Chapter End]==**

**A few quick notes: **

**\- Had the chance to write a chess game, a first for me, so I took it. If you could comment on how that went, It would be much appreciated.**

**\- I'm documented to be mediocre at best with battle scenes, so again, if you could leave your impressions on that it would be greatly appreciated.**

**\- The story will be switching to different perspectives due to the amount of characters in the RWBY world.**

**\- Time travel is set quite early in the story, so yeah, cannon divergence.**

**\- As a writer for the fate fandom, I'm pretty sure at some point someone's gonna ask about harems and OPness. The answer to both is no, I don't particularly like writing harem stories in a setting that doesn't actually have a harem setup and I don't have the skill to write a decent OP character story (and if anyone who reads my other works are also reading this, then they probably know how I like playing with cannon mechanics and interpretations).**

* * *

**Messenger Excerpts****:**

**Me: Okay you bloody witch, here's the next chapter.**

**Azu: Wow... okay, 5.4k for chapter 1? The prologue is like 1.5k... so do I get my Arkos this chapter?**

**Me: For god's sakes, I like the pairing as much as the normal fan but there're enough good Arkos stories written by other people!**

**Azu: But I want a specific kind of Arkos...! That and they're all either short or just not to my taste! **

**Me: I regret, with all my heart, ever telling you that I wrote fanfiction...**


End file.
